Still Good People
by NKBenson
Summary: My take on what would happen if Beth had lived, beginning from the events of the episode "Alone". Some adult themes, but if you're looking for smut, keep looking.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I quoted some of the dialogue from the show at the end of the chapter. I have put it in italics to show that I didn't write it!_

* * *

Sleep came on him suddenly as he lay in the silk-lined coffin listening to her play. How long had it been since he had really slept? The hours he had caught the last few nights, curled up on the pine-straw strewn forest floor, had been too quick and too shallow – but here, with the security of four walls and the sweet sound of her singing, sleep caught up at last.

She played gently until she heard the soft sound of his snores behind her. Turning, Beth studied his face in the glow of the candles. He seemed younger when he slept; his face less lined and the concerned furrow of his brows smooth. Daryl looked more at peace than she had ever known him to be.

Beth limped quietly around the parlor of the old house, blowing out the candles she had lit hours before, then made her way into the moonlit hallway. Outside, the cicadas and crickets droned in a familiar way. She could almost imagine she was back on the farm, before the turn and the long, weary fight that had been the last three years. The world was so at peace here at this quiet funeral home and like Daryl she felt she could finally rest.

He had cleared the upstairs when they first entered the building and found nothing but a couple of pristine bedrooms and an old fashioned wash room. Grabbing her pack, she headed now for the main bedroom. It was a plain room, the walls covered in clean but yellowing rose-printed paper. The bed had a large wrought iron frame and a white eyelet blanket. Beth sighed happily, reaching out to stroke the clean white bedclothes. Her cot at the prison had been a blessing compared to the hard floors and car seats they had found to sleep on that long winter after the farm, but _this_ – this bed would be heaven.

But even by the weak light Beth could make out the dirty smear her hand left on the blanket. She was so _filthy,_ caked in sweat and soot and dirt and gore. Beth felt childish even thinking it, given all she had to be thankful for, but what she wouldn't give for a long hot shower and to feel properly clean again.

She peeled off her jeans and the yellow polo she had found at the country club, turning the shirt inside out and using it to wipe off her hands and body. When Beth was satisfied that the top layer of dirt had been removed she slid into the cool cotton sheets and, settling a down pillow under her blonde head, fell almost immediately to sleep.

* * *

Daryl awoke with a sudden start as the Walker alarm he had rigged up along the porch gave a clang. The pale blue-gray of predawn came in around the wooden boards that protected the windows. He listened again for the metallic clanging of hubcaps and tin cans, but whatever had disturbed the string of trash seemed to have wandered away. Breathing slowly, he lay back down.

As Daryl's eyes adjusted and his mind became more alert, he spied his bag and crossbow leaning against the door frame. Beth's had been leaning there too the night before, but it was gone now. With a sudden jolt to his heart, he wondered if it had been she who had set off the alarm – maybe she had gone out alone looking for supplies.

"Beth!" He cried, swinging his legs over the edge of the coffin and jumping to the ground. "Beth!?" He called again, running into the hallway. He tried to peer out the front window, but the boards prevented him from seeing far into the lawn. _Upstairs, she had to be upstairs._ Daryl tried to push down the wave of panic that seemed to be rising from his gut as he took the stairs in twos. He threw open the bedroom door, calling her name a third time – but the word died in his throat as she sat up in bed.

The sound of the bedroom door banging into the wall behind it had yanked her from her sleep. She blinked confusedly at the dark haired man in the door frame, who looked suddenly down and away from her. Blushing, Beth realized that the sheets had fallen from her when she had instinctively sat up, exposing her body in the graying bra she had slept in. She hastily pulled the covers back up.

"Didn't mean to wake ya," Daryl mumbled to his feet. "Saw your bag was missin and thought you might have gone off on your own."

"I wouldn't do that," she promised, trying to recover from her embarrassment. Her clothes lay on a chair some three feet away. She felt small and childlike, exposed before him.

"I'm gonna go see what we got to eat," he mumbled again, turning and heading for the stairs. She wanted until the top of his head disappeared from view before throwing off the covers and hastily pulling her clothes back on.

Downstairs, Daryl sorted through the kitchen cupboards before pulling out a box of instant grits. They had found a small tower of Sterno cans in the pantry the night before as well as an old camping stove their missing host seemed to be cooking with. Lighting the Sterno, Daryl poured a little of their remaining water into a pot and slowly began to heat it.

She had looked too thin, sitting up in bed with nothing on but her bra. In the few quick seconds before he had looked away, he couldn't help but notice the sharp outline of her ribs and collarbone and how small her round breasts looked, as if she had shrunk and her bra no longer fit her right. The girl needed to eat more. Mud snakes and squirrels weren't cutting it.

When Beth came hobbling down the stairs fifteen minutes later, it was to a bowl of lukewarm grits and a couple of Vienna sausages Daryl had tried to roast over the Sterno's flame. Still embarrassed from their encounter, she nodded a good morning without making eye contact. He grunted in response , passing her a fork and tucking in to his own small breakfast. Beth began to eat greedily, never minding the blandness of unsalted grits or the half-warmed wienies.

"Slow down, girl. Gonna make yourself choke," he teased. She swallowed a large mouthful and grinned.

"I slept in a real bed last night. This morning I had a hot breakfast," Beth sighed contentedly as she scraped the sides of her bowl for the last little bite. "I feel really good for the first time in days."

* * *

Daryl sat in the parlor with the contents of his pack spread out before him. He had been in the room for some twenty minutes now, cleaning his weapons and taking inventory. But what he was really doing was waiting, hoping she'd come in and start playing again. He didn't want to admit it, but he liked her playing. It was a nice distraction from the hell on earth around him.

A clang and a thump from the hallway caught his attention. Turning his head, he saw her limping through the kitchen door, lugging a big metal tub behind her.

"The hell you doin, girl?" he called. Beth flushed a little and looked up.

" I know it's stupid, and it doesn't really matter...but I just wanted to get clean. I thought I'd go down to the creek and fill up this tub. Take a bath, maybe wash my clothes. I mean, it's not like there's anything else to do." She sounded almost defensive, as if afraid he might laugh at her.

"You were gonna try and carry that back up here yourself? Can't even walk!" He shook his head.

"I know it's stupid," Beth repeated again, sitting down on the bottom step. She felt foolish again; what was it about Daryl that always made her feel clumsy and childlike? But then he was standing up, walking towards her and swinging the tub up with one hand to rest over his shoulder.

" Be back in ten," he called, grabbing his crossbow with the other hand and striding out the front door.

She had searched through the dressers upstairs and found nothing but men's clothes, all of which were very large. She now traded her own dirty outfit for a button up shirt, the hem of which went nearly to her knees. Beth cuffed the sleeves several times over until they stayed tucked above her elbows. Gathering her jeans and polo, she sat back on the bottom step and waited for Daryl to return.

The last several days with him had been a constant pull of anger and acceptance, embarrassment and intimacy. There existed between the two of them a tension; one minute he was her protector, her friend, and the next he seemed to mock her, to view her as a burden. She found herself feeling shy and painfully young sometimes – and yet there were moments when he seemed to look at her and take her more seriously than Maggie or Zach or even her Daddy ever had.

His sharp whistle and rap on the front door broke her from her thoughts. Limping forward, she unlocked the door and he came in, holding the half-full tub in both hands now. With a grunt he set it on the ground and strode back into the parlor.

"I found some clothes upstairs," she called out to him. Her voice sounded so unsure to her own ears, lilting upwards as if each sentence were a question. "I put some in there for you. You can wear them while I wash your stuff."

"Naw," he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on another. "I'm good."

"Daryl." She put her hands on her hips suddenly stern. "You _stink_. I'm going to wash those clothes. And you're going to have a bath,".

"Like hell I am," He called back. He wasn't sure why he was fighting her on it. Daryl felt like a kid again, saying no just to say no.

"I am _going_ to get you cleaned up, Daryl Dixon. That's a promise," was her retort as she pulled the tub into the kitchen, walking backward through the door.

He leaned back further, chewing on the tip of his thumb and listening to the splashes and humming from the kitchen. Before long she was back out, her hair wet and knotted on top of her head. She hobbled over to the stairwell in the men's shirt and her grimy ankle bandage to drape her own wet clothes over the bannister before turning to him.

"At least let me get the Walker brains off your clothes. It's bad enough dealing with them, without you walking around covered in their guts." She pleaded. He looked down at his flannel shirt, noticing for the first time the dried gristle that flecked it. Sighing, he stood up, shrugged off his leather vest, and undid the first few buttons. Daryl reached back and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it at her. He reached for his fly before pausing, noticing that she still stood there watching him.

"Waitin for a show?" He challenged her. Beth flushed and turned away, clutching his flannel to her. He slid off his jeans and reached forward, nudging her elbow with the pants. Without turning, she grabbed them and made her way back to the kitchen. He shut the parlor door and lay back in the coffin, foregoing the folded clothes she had left for him on the piano bench.

Until the prison fell, she had been barely a friend to him. She was, by default, part of his family – that band that had fought and struggled through a cold and hopeless winter after the farm burned. As such he would have done anything to protect her, to provide for her, just as he would for Rick or Carol. But somehow he had never had much time for her, to get to know her. He knew she loved Little Ass-Kicker, knew she was good at farming and helped keep the prison going with cooking and chores, but they had never had the same bond that was made when two people went out on a run together. He thought now of the night after Zach had died. Daryl had dreaded having to tell her but felt duty-bound as the leader of the run to let her know. He had been surprised when she hadn't cried, and a little relieved, but the real surprise was when she wrapped her arms around him and buried her head on his chest. He had grabbed her elbow, not knowing what else to do, and held his breath until she backed away. It was a strange world she lived in, where you could wrap your arms around someone you barely knew like it was as natural as breathing.

He thought then of their last hug, outside the still, her narrow arms holding him tight from behind. He had felt so empty then, as if all the fight had left him and there was no where to turn for help. And yet she was there, a small but strong source of comfort. Since that moment he had felt a closeness to her, as the separate burdens of their grief where now shared between them and the load was lighter.

The heat of Indian summer dried their clothes quickly. It wasn't long before he heard her gentle tap at the parlor door, and then a small white hand reached into the room to hand him back his clothes. He pulled them on, aware of her presence just beyond the slightly open door. When the sounds of zipping and fabric on skin died down, she came hesitantly into the room.

He was laying back again in his coffin with one leg bent and chewing on the nail of his thumb.

"You aren't trying to sleep, are you? I thought I might play a little,".

"Go ahead," he nodded, not looking at her, but a small smile played around his lips.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun created long shadows in the room. Beth played and sang songs that seemed to be of her own invention while he periodically got up to look around the perimeter of the house. The occasional walker stumbled along the tree line, but all was otherwise quiet. It was as if the ugliness of the world outside were suspended in this old house, glowing golden in the warm sun.

When night began to fall again, Daryl headed back to the kitchen to throw together a dinner. She rose from the bench as if to help him, but he raised his hand to hold her back.

"Stay. I got it." And she smiled, turning back to her music,

The east-facing kitchen was darker than the front room had been. He lit a few of their candles and set about fixing their supper.

When their feast was set out – peanut butter, jelly, pigs feet and canned okra – Daryl strode back out to the parlor. Beth had turned at the sound of the kitchen door opening and begun to hobble in the direction of the kitchen.

"Hold up," he said, bending to lift her and carry her in his arms.

"That's not necessary!" She laughed as they moved to the kitchen. He had done the same at lunch.

"Need you to rest that foot," He told her as he placed her gently at the table. She smiled a little and grabbed a spoonful of peanut butter. Beth couldn't help but notice how much more physically comfortable he had become with her. A few days back, he could barely touch her arm to pass her a bandana. Now, he was carrying in his arms and even let her hold his hand when they had made their way through the graveyard. She had always shown affection through touch – it was nice that he was now doing the same. It made her feel more like his partner than his burden.

They ate in a comfortable silence, taking occasional swigs from the plastic bottles of diet cola they had found. It was truly a blessing, she thought, to be safe and comfortable with so much food.

" _I'm gonna leave a thank you note,_ " she said, pulling her old journal from her back pocket.

" _Why_?" he asked, pausing from scraping the sides of his jelly jar.

" _For when they come back... If they come back... Even if they're not coming back I still wanna say thanks._ " She felt a little silly and wondered if he would laugh at her.

" _Maybe you don't have to leave that. Maybe we stick around here for a little while . They come back, we'll just make it work. They may be nuts... but maybe it will be alright_."

" _So you do think there are still good people around. What changed your mind?_ " Beth grinned victoriously. Daryl jerked his head a little, a nervous flick.

" _You know_."

" _What_?" she insisted, grinning deeper.

" _I don't know_ ," he mumbled after a pause.

" _Don't... mmmhh_ ," she mocked him gently, rolling her eyes a little. _"What changed your mind?_ "

He didn't reply but met her eyes with his blue-gray ones. Beth had never noticed the color of his eyes before; they were always so well hidden behind his dark bangs, and he so rarely held eye contact for so long. There was a nakedness, an intensity in his look that made her feel as if the floor had been pulled out from beneath her.

" _Oh_." And her smile faltered a little. This new honesty from him made her a little afraid.

But before the awkwardness of the moment could solidify between them the sound of clanking cans drew their attention to the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of a dog barking and cans rattling shattered the tension between them.

" _I'm gonna give that mutt one more chance_ ," Daryl reached for his jar of pigs feet, feeling immensely relieved.

His relief made him careless. He opened the door without glancing through the boards that covered it – and immediately realized his mistake.

The smell of rotting flesh, the rasping groans, the clawing hands of a dozen walkers filled the hallway. Throwing his back to the door, he yelled for Beth. There were too many of them, he could feel their pressure on the door and knew he could never hold them off.

Beth hobbled quickly into the door frame, holding his crossbow. He beckoned for the weapon and she tossed it deftly to him.

" _Run! Run!_ " He insisted, waving his hands back towards the kitchen. He couldn't hold them off much longer, he needed to give her as much time as possible to escape.

"I'm not goin without you!" He could hear the fear in her voice and the determination. Fueled by adrenaline and never-minding the shooting pain, she ran into the parlor, yelling for him to follow.

Daryl sprang then from the door, shooting a bolt into the skull of the nearest walker. He jumped up, kicking the falling walker in the chest and knocking it back into the pack. He then followed her at a sprint and banged the door of the parlor closed.

Beth had moved to the piano and for one wild moment he thought she intended to play again. Instead, she pushed it along its castors towards the door. Realizing what she was doing, he grabbed the piano and pulled it to barricade the door as the sound of dead bodies banged against the surface.

The piano slid easily side to side but was to heavy for the dead to push forward. Daryl paused to catch his breath, grabbing both their packs on the chairs that had left them in, thankful for her quick thinking.

She was already at the window and struggling to pry boards from the frame. He strode forward, grabbing a poker from beside the fireplace, and nudged her out of the way. Using the poker as leverage, he quickly removed the last of the boards and was reaching down to lift the window when her hand on his arm stopped him.

"Wait," she nodded out the window at a blue sedan that was coming to a stop in the drive.. "What if it's the people stayin here? They'll be walking into a trap." Her eyes were round with concern for the strangers.

"They'll be fine. They'll hear the noise and run."

"Wait," she said again. "Please, I can't run far anyway. Let's just wait and see what they do."

He didn't want to linger. Her hurt leg made it all the more important to leave now, while the walkers were focused on banging against the parlor door. But before he could argue his point, the car doors swung up and two men strode out.

By the dim moonlight he could see they both wore cop's uniforms. They walked casually towards the house, both pulling their guns from their holsters. Daryl lost sight of them as they came up the porch, but a quick succession of gunfire and the sound of dead bodies hitting the floor replaced the snarls and thuds against the parlor door.

Daryl pressed his finger to his lips to silence Beth, then grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to a squat behind the coffin. He had meant what he said at supper, about their still being good people in the world, but he wasn't going to risk their safety assuming all strangers were good. Instinct made him wary of these men. How had they happened to show up just as a pack of walkers did?

"Hello?" One of the men called, " This is Officer Gormen and Officer Heyward with the Atlanta PD. We are here to help,". Daryl made the sign for silence again, preparing his crossbow in anticipation.

"Hello? Is anybody in there? Are you injured?" He called again in the clipped authoritarian tone of a seasoned cop. Their was some muttering between the two men. Daryl darted up in time to see the butt of a flashlight shatter the glass panes of the door transom. He ducked down again.

"I don't see anyone, Gormen," the second officer spoke as the beam of a flashlight bounced around the room, "Looks like they went out the window towards the back."

"They can't have gotten far. She's got a hurt leg," the man called Gormen replied. Daryl's grip tightened on his bow. _These men had been watching them._

"Shoot the man if he gets in the way," said Gormen again, and from the sound of their voices they were headed back out the house.

"You really think Dawn will let you have another girl after what happened with Joan?" Heyward chuckled darkly.

"Dawn _owes_ me another girl after what happened with Joan," was Gormen's dark reply.

Creeping back towards the window, Daryl watch as the two dark figures headed towards the treeline, the beams of their flashlights sweeping the ground. Silently, he slid the window open and gestured for Beth to follow.

"C'mon. Head for the car. Be quiet," he whispered, slipping out the window frame and reaching back to help her through. As quickly and quietly as they could, the pair stole towards the still-running sedan.

With a bang of car doors and the screeching of tires, Daryl threw the car into drive and barreled away from the house. Behind him, he could hear the officers shouts of surprise and see their beams of light focus on the car. Beth was curled into a corner of the passenger seat looking shaken.

There was a burst of static and a man's voice filled the car.

"Officer Lamson to Officer Gormen. Gormen do you copy?" Looking down, Daryl saw a walkie talkie wedged between his seat and the console. He picked it up, wondering how many of these men there were and just how organized they were. "Gormen, do you copy? Dawn wants an ETA." The voice came again.

"Ha, he's probably busy with his new ward. Said he was going for a blonde at the old funeral home," Came the jeering voice of a fourth man. At this, Beth shuttered and drew her legs inward. Daryl looked into her face for the first time since they'd left the funeral home. She seemed paler, her blue eyes round in shock. Angrily, Daryl flung open his car door even as he sped down the road, throwing the walkie talkie from them.

"Hey," he said gently, pulling her gaze towards him. "There are still good people. Those assholes just ain't them."

And with a quiet nod, she turned forward again as they flew down the leafy road into the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Beth sat in the passenger seat with her knees pulled against her chest, her right hand clutching her knife. Daryl had insisted that she try to sleep while he drove down back-country roads, taking turns at random to further distance them from the funeral home. Certain that the lingering adrenaline and weight of her own thoughts would keep her up, Beth had been surprised to find herself being gently shook awake some hours later.

Daryl had pulled off the highway at the base of a bridge, parking the car alongside a creek and well out of view from the road. It was still dark out and, if the dashboard clock was correct, it was only a little after four. Daryl was leaning his own seat back, his feet propped on the dash and one arm bent beneath his head.

"You okay to keep watch?" he had asked without looking at her.

"Mmhmm," she had assured him, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and unsheathing her knife.

That was several hours ago. Daryl had fallen asleep and she had kept watch as the sun had begun its slow hot climb. She could already feel a few beads of sweat gathering along her hairline.

Never before had she realized how great a liability it was to be young, thin, and a woman in a lawless world; that these qualities made her desirable prey and put in danger anyone who might try to protect her. Even after what happened with Maggie and the Governor, and after the horror stories shared by some of the other survivors at the prison, the insulating love of her family seemed an impregnable shield. Things like rape and kidnap couldn't touch her with them around.

 _Rape_. The word seemed foreign and sharp in her mind. _That's what those men would've done. Raped me. If it hadn't been for Daryl_...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of parting leaves. Glancing into the rear view mirror, Beth saw a lone walker stumble from the woods. His graying clothes snagged on branches and twigs as he lunged towards the car.

She sprang up and hobbled quickly towards the snarling walker. With a little cry of exertion Beth plunged the blade into it's skull. Panting, she yanked the knife from the still corpse and wiped the gore off on its holey shirt.

"Ya shoulda called me," Daryl muttered when she sat back in the car and slammed the door.

"I can handle one walker on my own!" She snapped back. She had felt powerful in that moment as her blade sank into the rotting flesh, as she became the protector instead of the victim. Now she felt cross and angry with herself. _Killing walkers isn't supposed to be fun_ , she had yelled at Daryl the afternoon they had spent at the still. The exhilarating feeling of power now left her feeling ashamed.

He didn't respond, but reached into the back seat to grab his pack.

"Only got half a bottle left of water. You?"

"About the same." She answered quietly. "Daryl... I found this map in the glove box while you were sleepin. I think...I think we should go back to the prison."

"Ain't nothin there," he reminded her flatly.

"I know...I know it's not gonna be the same. I know we can't stay there. But maybe there's still some supplies. Some of the canned goods, ya know? And maybe...maybe we could pick up someone's trail." She tried to sound confident, tried to suppress the aching desire she felt to find some clue of her family's fate. Then, in an attempt to sell him on it: "Besides, we could get your bike."

"We're safer in a car," He stroked his chin with the tip of his thumb, looking forward.

"Not this one!" She insisted. "Daryl, there are more of those men out there. What if they recognize the car? What if they come after us?"

He grunted in agreement and pulled his seat forward before throwing the car into reverse.

"Tell me when to turn."

* * *

The car cruised down a dirt road in the woods near the prison. Daryl waited for the trees to part and the prison to come into view before bringing it to a gentle stop. Without speaking, the pair got out and she took his place in the driver's seat. Daryl leaned in the open window to speak to her.

"We meet back here. Go slow enough that they can follow, but if they get too close you hit the gas. Got it?"

Beth nodded, her eyes round and lips held in a grimace. She had fallen silent as they neared the prison. Daryl could sense her tension and nerves.

"Hey." He said quietly, pulling her gaze to him. Finding himself unable to come up with words of comfort, of advice, he simply held her gaze and nodded once, hoping that she would understand.

Beth returned the nod with a weak smile before driving away.

Their plan was simple; she would drive towards the prison and honk, luring the dead towards the car. When they all came her way like lemmings following the herd she would drive back up the road bringing the dead with her. When she was far enough away, she would floor the car and, hopefully, get enough speed to shake the walkers. He would run down from the opposite side, grab his bike and whatever supplies he could, and meet her back on the dirt road.

Peering out from behind a gnarled oak, he watched as the blue sedan crept towards the prison. The place looked as if it had been frozen mid battle. The tank and small fleet of cars the Governor had led were still aimed aggressively at the crumbling brick walls, the chain-link fence pulled down behind them. The fires along the watchtower and cell block had ceased smoldering but black soot marked the smoke trails. Several walkers strayed around the old cars and garden.

She gave the horn a timid honk that caught the attention of nearby walkers. They turned from their aimless stumbling, reaching out towards the blue sedan. The car gave a nervous lurch forward as the dead neared it. Then came a second blast from the horn, this one stronger and more lasting. Daryl saw the walkers all along the prison yard turn now, fueled not only by the blaring of the car horn, but by the movement of their fellows as well. The pack grew closer to Beth now – Daryl saw with a jolt of fear the decaying hands of a walker make contact with the taillights before another lurch pitched the car forward. _C'mon girl._

Slowly, evenly, the car began to move again. Daryl let out a long sigh. Beth seemed to have mastered her fear as she drove deliberately down the road. When the last few rotting stragglers had abandoned the yard he made his was soundlessly towards the prison.

 _Thank God she wouldn't have to see this,_ he thought as he slipped toward the cell block with his crossbow held aloft.

The remains of friends and enemies littered the parking lot, staining the cement a deep reddish-black. Up close the whole place reeked of rotting meat and burning skin. A rasping sound to his right caused Daryl to swing around as one last walker came drunkenly at him.

With a quick _twang_ the bolt flew from his crossbow and embedded itself through the walker's eye. Daryl retrieved his bolt and strode back towards the cell block.

* * *

Beth parked at the meeting point and pulled out her knife. She had lead the parade of walkers nearly two miles until the last prison tower was out of sight before gunning the engine and circling back through country roads. The drive had been the longest 30 minutes of her life, a test of her nerves as she balanced between keeping the dead close but not too close. She still felt strung up, jumpy. The knife's handle shook slightly in her grasp. Where was Daryl?

Her eyes raked the prison for any sign of him. She took deep, steadying breaths and tried not to imagine Daryl trapped inside with a hoard of walkers.. She had wanted to go with him, reasoning that they were always safer with someone to watch their back, but he had refused point blank to let her.

 _Maybe he doesn't think I could help him. Maybe he thinks I'll just get in the way_. Her old insecurity plagued her. But then she remembered the look he had given her before she drove away. _You can do this,_ it had seemed to say. _You are strong enough._

"I am strong enough. I am." she whispered to herself, and the handle of the knife stilled in her hand.

The triumphant roar of a bike engine cut through the air. Grinning despite herself, Beth grabbed her backpack and the Georgia map from the sedan just as Daryl rounded a curve to pull up beside her.

"Found tracks on a trail back there. A couple people came this way." He called over the engine's purr. "Hop on."

"Daddy never let me ride one." She confessed hesitantly.

"Shit, never?" He smiled goodnaturedly. "C'mon." He held out his hand to stabilize her as she clumsily swung one leg over the bike. "Put yer feet here," he nudged the passenger pegs. "Hold on tight to me. If I lean, you lean."

"Okay!" Her voiced sounded high over the idle purring of the engine as her arms met around his middle.

"You set?" He called over his shoulder. She nodded, tightening her grip and pressing her cheek against the warm leather of his vest, as the bike sped forward and down a wooded trail.


	4. Chapter 4

The motorcycle bounced over the rough forest floor. Beth clung tightly to Daryl's middle, fearing that at any moment they would hit a root and go flying, but he steered them effortlessly down the winding trail until it opened on to a road.

He paused for a moment, placing his feet on the ground to balance the bike, and studied the leaf covered cement.

"Looks like they followed the road. You alright back there?"

"Mmhmm," she assured him, nodded her head against his back.

"Let's ride," and he kicked the bike back into gear.

Beth craned her neck to peer up the road, hoping to discern the marks that seemed so clear to him, but she couldn't make out much past the broad expense of his shoulder and muscular arms. She closed her eyes instead and breathed in deeply the smell of pine and his leather vest, enjoying the cool wind blowing against her face, and slowly felt her body relax into the ride.

It was early afternoon when Daryl stopped the bike in front of a large white house. He watched as she slid off the bike as clumsily as she had mounted it, a little smile twitching the corner of his mouth as noticed the imprint of his vest's wings on her cheek. Beth reached into her bag and pulled out a couple jars of peanut butter she had packed back at the funeral home. She held one out to him before limping over to sit on the shaded front porch.

Beth watched as he strode around the house, studying the ground and scooping peanut butter out of the jar with two fingers. He encircled the building and took several paces up the road before coming back to her.

"There were definitely two of 'em here. Maybe three. It looks like they made some friends."

"More of our people?" She asked hopefully, delicately scraping peanut butter from the sides of the jar with one crooked finger.

"Don't think so. The tracks are big and deep. Four or five men, I think." He sat down beside her with a grunt. "The trail heads that way, toward the woods. The strides are far apart - like they were running."

"Do you think they're okay?"

He only grunted again in a non-committal sort of way.

They followed the tracks through the woods, riding as much as possible where the trees grew far enough apart. A couple of times they had to pause so that he could search for the trail in the underbrush or to dispense of a lone walker that ambled by. She was getting more confident with her knife, he noticed.

Dusk had begun to lengthen the shadows along the forest floor when Daryl spotted a deer stand a little ways off their trail. It was a simple, homemade platform some 15 feet of the ground constructed of two-by-fours with a low plywood wall along two sides.

"We'll rest here tonight," he nodded towards the structure and began to walk his bike underneath it. There was no point in tracking in the dark.

She climbed up the rungs ahead of him and leaned against one of the low walls. He opened one of the saddle bags of his bike and pulled out a pillow case of supplies he'd scavenged at the prison, tossing it on to the stand and starting to climb up himself.

Beth scooted towards the pillow case and opened it, looking for their dinner. To her surprise, she found the blue and white patchwork quilt that had warmed her bed at the prison.

"My quilt! Daryl, thank you!"

"Thought you might like that," his head popped over the edge of the platform and he pulled himself up to sit on the wall diagonal to her. Grabbing the pillowcase himself, he pulled out a couple of fruit cups and some cans of tuna.

They ate their small dinner as they night fell warmly on the forest. Daryl offered to take first watch, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out before him, and settling the folded quilt under her head, Beth rolled to her side and tried to sleep.

Her ankle was killing her. She hadn't wanted to mention it as they walked through the forest today, but sharp pains shot up her leg with each step. Now it throbbed against her boots, keeping her from sleep. She set up and tried to take the boot off.

To her dismay the shoe seemed stuck on her ankle. She grunted, pulling on the shoe, until Daryl leaned forward and yanked it off.

"Shit, girl. Shoulda told me it was this bad," He said, looking down at the swollen ankle. Gingerly, he pulled her foot into his lap and began to unwrap the old bandage.

He could feel the heat from the pooling blood as the bandage fell away. He examined it carefully, giving a low whistle under his breath. Beth was propped up on her elbows and trying not to wince as he gently touched her ankle. Slowly, frowning to himself, he re-wrapped the leg.

"Need to keep it elevated tonight," he told her, laying it to rest across his lap. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her other foot beside it and slipped its boot off as well.

Since leaving the prison they had always slept with their shoes on – excepting the one night she had spent in the bed at the funeral home – so that they could get up and run quickly needed. She supposed they were safe enough, so high above the ground, but it still felt odd to be barefoot. She lay back down feeling confused.

The feeling mounted as his hands fell down, loosely holding her feet to him. His thumb lay against the tender skin of her uninjured ankle. Beth's body tensed at the soft touch. It was almost painful, the lightness of it, and her stomach tightened in a not unpleasant way.

Zach's face appeared suddenly in her mind and with it the memory of Daryl yelling at her at the still – _you lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear!_ \- a choking feeling rose up in her throat and she tried to swallow it down.

A secret guilt had plagued her since long before the prison fell and now it stung at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill over in a wave of tears. It had been Daryl who brought Zach and his group to the prison early in the summer. She remembered the way he looked at her, that first evening, when she served him a plate of squirrel barbeque. He had grinned at her in a way that made her blush to the roots of her blonde hair and had brought about the same tightness in her navel.

The first couple of weeks with him had been exciting as they found little excuses to be together, to touch one another, and it wasn't long before she found herself kissing him heatedly in the shade of the watch tower, far from the eyes of her Dad or Maggie. But as the weeks wore on, she found herself wondering if he would actually pick to be with her if there were any other girls around their age. She liked him as a person, thought he was good natured and very funny at times, but so much of their relationship seemed to center around the physical. Not that they did much more than kiss – _a lot._ There had been one afternoon, a few days before he died, when they had found themselves in a secluded corner of the prison and he had moved her hand to cup the insistent bulge his erection made against his pants. She had felt awkward and distinctly unsexy, and was immensely relieved when the sharp cries of Judith gave her an excuse to run away.

Before Beth could master herself, a small sob ripped from her throat. Daryl's eyes flew to her face in time to see it crumple into tears. She brought her hands up to cover her face but there was no hiding the sobs that wrenched from her small form.

"Hey," he called to her, startled.

"I-I was j-just thinking 'bout Zach," she stuttered through her tears.

"Huh...Ya miss him?" he asked quietly. He watched her closely from the corners of he downcast eyes. She sobbed even harder at his question. He watched her thin body shutter as she fought to control herself. Finally, with a little hiccup, she slowed her breathing and lowered her hands to her sides.

"I was sorry he died," she said quietly, staring up at the stars. "I really was. But there was also this feelin'...I was relieved, 'cause I knew I didn't want to be with him anymore." Her voice was bitter now with self-loathing, "That's how selfish I am. He dies and I'm just glad I don't have to dump him." He saw her brows knit in disgust with herself.

Looking down at the pale skin of her exposed ankle, he slowly stroked his thumb against her soft skin as he tried to marshal his thoughts. He had never been good at comforting anyone, physically or verbally, but she looked so small and wretched he almost couldn't stand it. Finally he spoke:

"Back at the farm, when we were looking for Sophia... After a few days I knew she was probably dead. She didn't know how to find food or protect herself. But I had to keep lookin. I had to hope, for Carol. And then, she came out of the barn...it hurt like hell, seeing her like that. Hurt seein Carol like that. But I also knew I didn't have to look anymore. I didn't have to make myself hope." He paused, looking up to meet her eyes. " Feelin relieved dulls the pain, let's you move forward. It ain't being selfish; just part of survivin'."

The anger in her face melted into sadness. Tears clung thickly to her lashes, or else rolled down her cheeks leaving pale streaks in her dirty skin, but no new ones came to her blue eyes. She looked into his face beneath the shaggy fringe of dark hair and whispered:

"Thank you."

He nodded, still stroking her ankle, as she closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl awoke at sunrise. Sitting up, he rolled his neck side to side. He was glad of the platform's height, as the few walkers that had stumbled their way in the night seemed unable to sense them, but the rough plywood left his body stiff.

"Morning," Beth said a little shyly. She felt embarrassed at the memory of her confession and at the feeling his hand on her leg had evoked. "Fruit cup?" She held out a small plastic cup to him.

"Naw." Daryl swung his crossbow over his shoulder and began to make his way down the ladder. "I'm gonna see if I can find us a real breakfast."

When he returned to the tree stand nearly an hour later, he found Beth sitting below it, nursing a small fire. She jumped up,wheeling to face him as a twig snapped beneath his foot.

"Easy now, Greene," He threw his hands up at the sight of the small blade in her raised fist. "I'm willin to share," and he tossed a cotton-tail at her.

The smell of roasting meat was intoxicating. Beth's patience was sorely tested as Daryl slowly turned the rabbit side to side on a spit. She reached to pull a piece of meat from the bone and he hastily jerked it from her grasp.

"You tryin to get worms?" he warned her, and she folded her hands into her lap with a sigh.

The pair was more buoyant than they had been since the prison fell, cheered by the prospect of a tasty breakfast , having Daryl's bike back and being on the trail of someone they knew and loved. The dejection and grief that had plagued them for the past week was dulled by the hope that they were not the only ones who made it.

After breakfast Daryl insisted on studying her ankle before they picked back up the trail. The swelling had disappeared after a night of sleeping with her legs propped up and when she gingerly put weight on it there was a sensation of discomfort, but not the sharp pain she had experienced the day before.

"Still," Daryl insisted as she clumsily remounted his motorcycle, "You stay off it as much as you can," and when he felt her arms meet securely around his middle he kicked the bike into gear and they set off down the trail again.

Thirty minutes into their journey they left the woods and came to another paved road. Daryl stopped the bike and walked around, studying the leaves with a small scowl on his face.

"What is it? Did you lose the trail?"

He grunted. "Naw, it's here alright. I just don't like what it says." Beth hastily dismounted and walked towards him.

"Walkers?" She asked.

"You tell me. You're the one who wants to learn how to track." Beth stood beside him and stared at the ground before them. She fought hard to make sense of the indents and scuffs in the bed of leaves.

"Well...I think this is their trail here, right?" He nodded in agreement. "But this...Beth walked slowly over to a spot a few feet away. "This is someone else. Not walkers, people."

"Mmhmm. I spotted that trail a few times yesterday. Looks to me like someone else is following the tracks. They ain't great at it – lost the trail in the woods for a long time."

"Could it be more of ours?"

"Doubt it. Looks like the same men that were at that house yesterday."He bit his lip, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "C'mon, we're gettin close. These tracks are a day old at most."

It was around midday when they came on to a pair of train tracks that winded through a grassy field. Beth spotted a homemade sign affixed to a post on the tracks. She tapped his shoulder, signaling him to stop and pointed at the wooden board.

On it was a map of Georgia, the train lines throughout the state traced in heavy black ink. A star marked where the lines all met, the label Terminus above it.

"Sanctuary for all?" Daryl read out.

"Reckon that's where they're headed?" She asked. He scratched his chin a little nervously.

"Looks like it." He kicked his bike back into gear without expressing the worry that now bloomed in his mind. The police officers the other night had been from some kind of organized settlement. He wondered now if they were from Terminus, and if following the tracks to them would be delivering Beth to those men.

To his relief, the tracks of the unknown men had veered off a few miles back. He hoped they had lost the trail, or that it was coincidence that it shadowed the other tracks. They were getting close now; the imprints were less than a day old by now.

The sun was beginning it's descent when he spied the old station wagon a half mile down the road. Three figures sat around a small fire built in the ditch beside the car. Daryl squinted, trying to make out the figures, before whooping in joy.

"Hold tight, Greene!" He called as he gunned the engine and bent lower over the handlebars.

At the sound of the engine the three figures had leapt to their feet, two pulling guns from their hips and the third unsheathing a long blade. The weapons were quickly re-holstered as they caught sight of the dirty man and blonde girl, both grinning from ear to ear, flying towards them.

Beth had jumped from the bike before it fully stopped, launching herself at Rick and Michonne who met her in a hug. Daryl parked the motorcycle and clasped hands with Rick as Beth grabbed Carl affectionately.

"Been tracking you for days, Brother." Daryl's face was more joyful than Beth could ever remember it being. Rick's eyes twinkled, a grin splitting over his own unshaven features.

"Glad to see ya both. Have you found anyone else?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Do y'all know what happened to anyone? Maggie, Glenn?" Beth asked eagerly. Michonne shook her head.

"I left on my own. Had to follow these two myself." She nodded at Rick and Carl. Beth tried to hide her disappointment.

Rick, Michonne, and Carl had been roasting one small rabbit when the pair rode up. Beth and Daryl both declined a meager portion of meat, feeling fortunate for the feast they had at breakfast, and split among the five of them the last of the canned goods Daryl had scavenged at the prison. As night settled in, the two groups shared their separate stories. Rick recounted a run in with a group of men at a house and Beth and Daryl exchanged a look.

"We thought we saw their trail," Beth explained. "It looked like they were following you for a while." Rick arched an eyebrow at this, his face suddenly serious.

"Trail veered off miles back." Daryl assured him, but the alert look didn't totally fade.

Beth told their own story, skimming over the details of the night in the still. When she came to the attack at the funeral home, she felt her voice falter a little. She hated feeling like a victim, and that exactly what she did every time she thought about those two police officers.

"They were organized," Daryl put in meaningfully. "They had a base camp somewhere. Could be Terminus."

"Yea." Rick drawled, nodding slowly. "That's where we're headed, but we're not takin any chances. We'll scope it out first, go in through the back way." Michonne nodded solemnly in agreement.

It was well after sunset, the five of them feeling relaxed and reasonably well feed, when Beth left the warm little circle and began to walk towards the treeline.

"Where you going?" Carl called after her.

"Nature calls!" She threw over her shoulder, searching for a nearby tree behind which she could relieve her bladder. She choose one some thirty feet away – near enough to see the figures around the fire, make out their happy chatter, without feeling exposed to them.

It was an awkward squat, one hand on the trunk of the tree for balance, the other clutching her knife just in case, but when she was finished she rose, zipped her jeans, and turned to head back to her companions. She had barely made it two steps, however, when a rough hand clamped over her mouth and nose, stifling her breath. Another wrapped arm wrapped around her torso as, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw five figures creeping forward silently towards the small campfire.

" _Claimed_." A gruff voice whispered in her ear.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence**.

Beth jerked violently against the arms that held her, hoping that the sound of struggle would alert the little group at the campfire. The grip around her middle tightened to a vice in response, the hand on her face pressing in more firmly, and she felt her body weaken as she fought to draw breath.

"Play nice, bitch." snickered the voice in her ear. "It'll only be worse if you fight."

Beth stopped struggling. Her heart pounded madly as she watched one man hold up his hand to pause their progress. Hidden among the trees, he gestured from himself to Rick, then indicated Michonne to the man on his right, who nodded in understanding.

"I want the boy," hissed a third man. The leader nodded his approval, then pointed at the two remaining men and out to Daryl.

"No one dies 'til I say so." The leader pulled a silver pistol from his side. "They have to suffer. We owe it to Lou."

They moved like shadow. Distracted by the joy at their reunion, the little band around the fire noticed nothing until -

 _"Oh dearie me!"_ The leaders voice was sinister and triumphant as his gun nuzzled Rick's temple. _"You screwed up, asshole."_

"Beth!" Daryl yelled, standing quickly and whirling towards the forest. He reached instinctively for his crossbow, but Beth's captor unsheathed the knife at her hip and placed it's tip against her throat.

"I'd hold it right there if I were you," he threatened Daryl, who froze. Beth's eyes darted around the scene – the leader was taunting Rick, who looked physically ill. A second man held his gun to Michonne, watching the leader for his signal. And Carl – Beth felt a new bought of horror grip her insides – Carl was being thrown to the ground by the third man, who giggled as he struggled to turn the boy over. The final two men approached Daryl, fists cocked.

"Beth!" He screamed again as the first blows landed on his gut and head.

"Keep 'em busy boys and I'll let ya have my seconds!" called her captor as he forced her to the ground.

He dropped her knife now, encircling her wrists with one of his large hands and forcing them above her head. He pinned her right leg down with his own, the weight of his knee grinding sharply into her thigh. With his free hand he forced her shirt and bra up to her neck.

The chaos filled her senses. All the violence, fire, death and loss she had known before paled in comparison to this – the shrill ring and smell of a single gun shot, the wet slapping sounds as Daryl took hit after hit, still calling her name, the terrible whimpering and pleading from Carl, and now the rough grasp of this leering man on her skin. She bucked against his grip, but was no match for him; his weight pinned her easily as he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them roughly down.

"Oh, it's gonna be so much worse now!" The voice of the leader cut through the din. Beth fought with all her might as her captor hooked two fingers around the crotch of her underwear, his knuckles brushing against her naked body, as he yanked the clothing to the side.

But then a sudden snarl, the all-too-familiar sound of teeth ripping flesh, and gurgling screams ripped through the air. The violence was suspended as the gang of thugs looked towards the leader, a dark red flood spewing from his eviscerated neck. Rick spit out a spray of gore.

The man's grip on her arms slackened in shock. Beth lunged for the knife he had dropped to the ground. He had barely a moment to react before she buried the blade deep into his shoulder. Dimly, she heard the sound of gunshots, of Daryl grunting in exertion and the crunching sound of bone being stomped, but all she could see was the man twisting in pain above her as she pulled out the knife and stabbed upwards again and again and again...

Daryl pulled the nearly dead man off of Beth and finished the job with the gun he had grabbed from one of the gang members. Beth lay on the ground, her body twitching as if she were still stabbing in relentless rhythm. Her eyes were wide and dry and filled with hate. He lifted her to her feet, pulling her shirt down and yanking her jeans back to her hips by the belt loops. She didn't resist or look at him, but stared forward with a focused hatred that made his blood run cold. Behind him, he could hear Carl sobbing in Michonne's arms as Rick gutted his son's attacker. Both Rick and Beth seemed gripped by an unyielding blood lust – but where Daryl had seen this in Rick before, understood that the fight was a part of his nature, it was foreign and terrifying in the small woman who stood shaking before him.

Daryl took her by the chin and tilted her face towards his as he used his bandanna to mop the blood off her cheek, her neck, her hair...her eyes turned to him, saw the swollen eye and the blood-crusted lips, and she shook his hand from her.

Beth felt sharp, focused by rage. She didn't need Daryl's to pick her up, to clean her up and put her together. She had fought the man on her own, she had been the one to feel the knife pierce skin over and over, to feel the warm flow of his blood down her arm. There was work to be done now.

She picked through the pockets of her attacker with shaking fingers. A fresh wave of rage struck her at the memory of his skin against _her_ and she felt the simultaneous need to vomit and scream and strike him again. Beth shrieked at these unwelcome thoughts and stomped hard at the man's groin, feeling the satisfying smoosh of his organs under her heel. Panting now, she grabbed his ankles and pulled the corpse towards those of the two men who had attacked Daryl.

Michonne still cradled Carl, who stared at the exhausted figure of his father kneeling over the open gut of the man he had killed. When Beth passed, Michonne shot one arm out to grab her forearm and questioned her with a look.

"I'm stacking the bodies," was her cold reply. "I'm taking their shit and I'm staking their bodies."Michonne nodded and released her, noticing the harshness and profanity in the once sweet voice.

Daryl hadn't moved since she shook him off. Slowly, he passed the bandanna over his own face before pocketing it and moving to help her search the bodies.

The vitriolic tide within her began to ebb into weariness as the last body was searched and piled. Without speaking, Beth strode to the passenger door of the station wagon, passing Rick who leaned against the driver's side, and curled up in the passenger seat with her back to the rest.

"She'll be okay," Michonne assured Daryl solemnly. "She needs time. Rick is the one who needs you now," and she led Carl to the back of the station wagon, tear tracks still evident on his grimy cheeks.

 **Author's Note: I can't thank you enough for reading, reviewing, and following. I have so far really enjoyed writing my first fiction and the encouragement of this community has been overwhelming! I want to apologize in the delay in publishing these last two chapters; I have been re-watching The Walking Dead, The Talking Dead, and various cast interviews to make sure I understand these characters and hopefully do them justice – especially Beth, who is so often depicted as a clueless, perpetually innocent, doe-eyed little girl. In the episode of the Talking Dead following "Still" Scott Gimple discusses Beth and how she ISN'T "the Taylor Swift of the Group"; that there is something cold and acerbic about her that is often overlooked. I'm looking forward to exploring this sharp side of her character as it evolves in this dangerous world, and I thank you again for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello all! I sincerely apologize for the long time between updates. By way of apology, here are two new chapters and the promise that the next one will be written more quickly! Thank you for taking the time to check out this fan fiction. :)**

For Beth, the day Terminus fell would forever be a blur. What she would remember most is the feeling of being hungover, as she slowly woke up in the front seat of the station wagon. She had experienced this only once before – the morning after she and Daryl burned down the still - but the pounding headache, the queasiness, the uncomfortable memory of the night before were unmistakable. Only this time it had been her own rage and adrenaline that poisoned her veins.

The memory would remain much sharper for her sister. As Beth, Daryl, Michonne, Rick and Carl made their way towards Terminus, Maggie and rest of the survivors in the boxcar paced back in forth, improvised weapons from the snaps and zippers of their clothes, and tried to come to terms with the horror of their reality.

Maggie had felt so unburdened when they had first come through the gates the day before. The place was bright, orderly, and the smell of roasting meat wafted tantalizingly out to great them. But as Mary, the smiling woman behind the long grill, passed them each a plate of food in welcome Maggie had felt the prickle of eyes upon her. It was then she had noticed the covert glances of the people in the yard around them. They were watching them sharply, waiting for the little band of survivors to eat.

Maggie was not alone in noticing it. Abraham stiffened behind her and Glen, sensing the change in his demeanor, gently lowered the fork he had been raising to his lips.

Abraham had insisted then on speaking with the leader. Maggie had already come to recognize his "no bull shit" voice – the authoritative bark born of his time in the military – and she already trusted his judgement. Mary had tried to talk them into having a bite to eat first, but Abraham was a dog with a bone. "We don't need you damn food. We gotta man here who has the cure. We gotta get the hell to DC and we need your help."After a few minutes of his insistence, and Abraham smacking a plate from Eugene's hands, Mary had pursed her lips and called on her Walkie-Talkie for a man named Alex.

The mood shifted quickly. The group of survivors was led into a small room. Maggie noticed four or five men milling around the walls, guns in hand. Her own had hand reached for the butt of her gun and the assurance that it was within quick reach.

"We hear you're headed for Washington." Alex said with a smile Maggie didn't trust.

"Damn-fucking-straight." Abraham responded, nodding towards Eugene. "My man here has the no-how to end this whole damn shit show, and we need your help getting' him there."

"That so?" Alex asked. "We don't usually give out supplies to outsiders."

"You said their was sancutary for all!" Sasha challenged him. " You've got this all set up to help people, and you won't help us get to DC and end this thing?!"

"There is sanctuary. For those who join us. You see, we need you here." Alex grinned to himself, as if at a private joke. "You are hear now, and you'll become a part of us...one way or another." The men along the walls had chuckled.

Alex had led them on a tour of Terminus, speaking with the knowledgeable pride of a tour guide as he showed them the bunkhouses, the store rooms, the shower facilities. The armed men circled the group like sheep dogs, herding them into a tighter knot as Alex explained the safety and comfort Terminus could offer.

"But it comes at a price," Alex assured them with a wry smile, halting in front of a large metal door. Cold air poured out as he swung the door open. Inside, suspended by giant hook, were unmistakably human torsos.

"There are only two choices left in this world. Eat, or be eaten. So...what will it be?"

Nausea, disbelief and anger overwhelmed Maggie. Abraham was cursing, Sasha was yelling abuses, and Glenn had tried to negotiate (" We'll just leave, no one has to get hurt!") but they were flies already caught in the web, without leverage to negotiate release. More men and women joined those who had been herding them and the group was picked clean of their weapons, jewelry, and choice pieces of clothes by the Terminus swarm.

It was hard to gauge time in the windowless boxcar, but Maggie guessed it was around noon the next day when the rapid rhythm of gunfire began. She went over to the door and tried to see through the cracks around it.

Alex was calling out now, almost in amused way, at what Maggie guessed was another group of newcomers.

"..You do what I say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway." The light coming in through the crack was blocked as a figure stood in front of the door, Maggie tilted her head, trying to make out the figure beyond the door.

"Glenn! Glenn!" She called in a whisper. He immediately joined her at the doorway. "Look, I think it's Rick."

"Now the archer." Alex directed

"Daryl?" Glenn whispered in wonder, but they couldn't make out anything past the sliver of Rick.

"Now the samurai." _Michonne._ Maggie thought. _It has to be Michonne._

 _"_ Now Goldilocks." Hope and dread collided painfully in Maggie's chest. _Could it be Beth? It has to Beth. Oh, please don't let it be Beth!_

 _"_ My son _!"_ Yelled a voice that was undeniably Rick's.

"Go, kid." Alex directed. So Carl was alive too...

And so the door was open, and the five survivors walked in single file. Maggie fell on her sister, pulling the golden head tight against her body, and rocking Beth to her. It had been too much to hope that she'd made it too; Maggie had told herself it wasn't possible as she couldn't stand the agony of hoping. But her she was, her Bethy, dried blood caked in her hair and glazed look in her eye.

The group slept in shifts that night as they each succumbed to exhaustion. Maggie watched her sister sleep, curled into a tight ball on the concrete floor.

"What happened to her?' she whispered to Rick, who leaned against the steel wall to her left.

"She got out with Daryl. We didn't meet up 'til yesterday."

"And was she...she seems so...not there?" Maggie struggled to frame her confusion. Rick inhaled deeply through his nose and tilted his head back to the wall.

"We were attacked last night. A gang. She fought hard, killed one that was on top of her." He exhaled heavily and nodded his head slightly as he recalled the night before. "It was an ugly fight."

Understanding hit Maggie with the force of a bullet. She remembered suddenly the Governor's hands on her body, the feeling of just wanting to shut down that had haunted her for days.

"Did the men...?"

"Naw. It was a close call though." Maggie felt her own heartbeat quicken in protective anger for her baby sister. She was such a small figure, curled in on her self as if in self-protection. Tension was evident in every line of the sleeping girl, as though even in sleep she was steeling herself for a fight she was ill-prepared for.

If Maggie had looked up across the boxcar she would have seen another set of eyes on her sister; eyes that were full of concern and a little self-reproach as their owner chewed nervously on his own thumb nail.


	8. Chapter 8

Beth's body was stiff and achy from her night on the concrete floor. She was hungry, she was exhausted, and in her mind there raged a war between vindictive joy at the the memory of stabbing her would-be rapist and shame at what her father would say if he had seen her stomping the corpse, shrieking in anger, taking joy in hurting the man who had attacked her. _Killing is not supposed to be fun, walker or human. Maybe especially human._ And though she wouldn't call it fun, exactly, the dominant surge of emotions was a dark sort of pleasure.

These thoughts consumed her as the survivors prepared themselves for battle.

 _"They're fucking with the wrong people."_ Rick had said. There was an air of grim and desperate determination in the boxcar. Steel nerves were no help, however, against a smoke bomb.

The survivors scattered, coughing and confused, as figures in gas masked penetrated the boxcar and pulled some of their own out. The door was shut again with a metal clang, and as the smoke slowly dissipated and the coughing ceased, Beth looked around to see who was taken. _Rick...Glenn...Bob...and Daryl._ Beth was pierced with panic. The walls of the boxcar seemed closer in than before, breath was shallow in her lungs, her vision swam and her hands shook. Abraham had told the newcomers about what they'd seen – a room of human meat, ready to be cooked and eaten by the living - and she had felt the wave of horror, but while they were all together it had felt like just challenge they _had_ to – they _could_ \- overcome. But now they were separated, and the truth of their powerlessness broke the last threads of her courage.

Beth was in the throes of an anxiety attack, on the brink of hyperventilation when the explosion happened. The boxcar was rocked and when it steadied she seemed to have snapped into a place beyond anxiety. No longer was the world roaring around her, now it was reduced to a hum of chaos that filled her senses and blocked out every memory of joy or peace. Around her people were running towards the door, scrambling to find information or a way out. Eugene and Sasha were arguing, Abraham was shouting, but it was as if she were listening to their voices underwater. Around her the group was preparing for battle or escape and she stood as unresponsive as one of the dead.

And then the door was thrown open, and the boxcar was flooded with light and the snarling groans of a hoard of walkers. Beth's body acted on instinct, even as her mind remained blank and uncomprehending; she joined the group of survivors as they streamed from the boxcar.

Her senses were immediately assaulted by a roaring inferno. The smell and taste of smoke blocked her airways, the heat blistered her skin, the hungry crackling of flames added to the din in her own mind. Beth was struck then by a strange thought – that her life had become a string of unstoppable blazes. First the farm, then the jail, the still, now this place...They seemed to be growing larger and more frequent and she was seized by a new and terrifying idea that, in the moment of utter panic, seemed distinctly possible. _What if this is hell?What if I died, back at the prison, and all this has been hell? And the rapists and the murderers and the cannibals – all demons, sent to plague me in hell._ Her steps faltered at the weight of this idea – that she had come to her eternity and it was one of never-ending blazes – when a firm hand grabbed her above the elbow and pulled her along.

With that, the spell was broken. Courage, will, seemed to flow from the hand that led her into her own body. And she raced wit h the rest, until the red flames and bricks gave way to the golden-green of the pine forest outside the gate.

Beth gratefully sucked down the cooler air, giving a silent prayer of thanks for the strong arm that had pulled her to safety. It was then that the grip on her arm finally loosened, and the man beside her gave a little whimper and ran forward.

Carol stood between two trees, her dirty face looking both apprehensive and relieved to see them all. Daryl wrapped her in his arms, laid his shaggy head against her shoulder, and, to Beth's slight surprise, the stuttering sound of sobs came from the large man. As she watched the two figures rock back in forth in each others arm she felt suddenly very alone.


	9. Chapter 9

Daryl buried his head into the crook of Carol's neck. Each sob made his chest heave and chug like an engine trying to turn over, struggling from years of disuse. He didn't care that everyone behind him was watching - in truth he barely registered it it – she was here, alive, and whole, his best friend and confidant; the first person with whom he truly let his guard down.

Pulling back, he placed his hand along her jawline and titled her face up.

"Aw, look at ya, " he whispered, as his thumb slid along her cheek, using her own tears to wipe away the grime on her face. "You did all this?" She nodded, and pride surged in his chest.

The sound of a zipper being pulled apart and metallic clinking turned their attention back to the rest of the group. Rick had uncovered the duffle bag of guns and rations he had hidden before they had entered Terminus. He distributed the supplies among the survivors, and Carol, stepping forward, opened her own pack to revel several handguns.

"I took these from their store rooms," She address Rick quietly, holding the pack out to him like an offering. Rick met her eyes and nodded slowly.

"Thank you," He said finally. "I'm glad you're back." Daryl knew in that moment that what had happened at the Prison was forgiven. Carol's exile was over.

"Come with me," Carol said with a small smile. "I have something to show you."

* * *

Beth followed the crowd as mindlessly as she had when they rushed from the boxcar a half hour previously. She was dimly aware that Carol was taking them somewhere, and that Rick wanted to track down any survivors of Terminus, and that Abraham was very vocally insisting they find a ride and head to DC, but her usually sharp mind seemed unable to interpret any of this information. But then, they were coming to a little shack in the woods, and Tyreese was standing in the doorway with a small bundle held carefully in his arms...

Rick was sprinting forward, Carl at his heels, reaching for the gurgling baby. He scooped Judith into his arms as silent tears of joy filled his blue eyes. The baby reached up to tug at his beard as Carl beamed at his sister.

Beth felt then the first purely good emotion she had since before the attack at the campsite. It seemed to wake her from her stupor of the last 48 hours and she began to see the source of her anger, confusion and fear.

 _I thought I was strong. Isn't that what I told Daryl, that day at the still? That I was strong and that's why I survived. But it's not true, is it?_

They were walking now, having resolved against returning to finish of the Terminus survivors, but following a set of train tracks in the opposite direction.

 _I thought I was strong because I stopped being scared when I saw a walker. I thought I was strong because I stopped crying when people died. I felt brave, shooting at the Governor and stabbing walkers through the holes in the fence. But I didn't know._

The group veered from the train tracks and began to trek through the woods, headed roughly north east by Eugene's estimation. It was past noon now, and they were beginning to be on the look out for a safe place to camp for the night.

 _I had no idea, really, what it's like to fight an enemy that can think for itself, one that's face to face with you. I didn't realize how easy it was for someone to overpower me, or just how much it takes to kill a person._

Fearful screams split the afternoon air. Carl, ignoring Rick, ran towards the sound with Daryl close behind him. The whole group was running now, unwilling to be split up.

 _I wasn't ready because Daddy held me back. He always had me workin' in the garden or watching the kids. He didn't even like me being on fence duty. I know he did it to protect me... but it just made me weaker._

Daryl, Carl, Michonne and Rick were making quick work of a half dozen walkers that had surrounded a large boulder. On top of the boulder, kicking at and scrambling from the reaching dead hands, was a man in a clergy shirt and collar.

 _It wasn't just Daddy though. When the Governor took Maggie and Glenn, I was the first one who said we should go after them. No one took me seriously. No one thought I could fight._

The clergyman called himself Father Gabriel. Rick asked him the three questions – how many walkers he had killed, how many people, and why. Father Gabriel claimed not the have killed anyone - because murder was a sin – and was met with Rick's skeptical evaluating stare. The Father offered to take them back to his church, and they began to follow cautiously, Michonne pulling her sword threateningly from it's sheath.

 _I almost didn't make it. I got lucky. But I'm done feeling guilty for fighting, and I'm done feeling scared. Daddy isn't here to hold me back. And I'm not going to be a burden._

Her mind was resolved as they came upon the little white church. It was a simple building, with a cupola and red tin roof. A crooked split-log fence marked the perimeter of the church yard.

Rick halted as they approached the building, and the few survivors who hadn't readied their weapons did so. As if they had coordinated hours ago, they split into separate groups – Abraham, Rosita, and Tara flanking the right side of the church, Glenn, Maggie and Carol taking the left. Rick, Carl and Daryl entered the building, guns and crossbow raised. Beth stood on alert with Sasha and Bob while Tyreese held Judith close to him.

When they were satisfied that no one else was in the church, Rick waved the rest of the group in.

"How'd ya survive alone this long?" Rick asked Father Gabriel. His search of the building had assured him that the Father had been alone, as least recently– there was only one blanket, laid out over a couch in the church office and no sign of any weapons or personal effects from anyone but Father Gabriel.

"I was lucky," Gabriel replied, with a contented smile that made Beth a little distrustful of him. " We had our annual canned food drive right before everything fell apart. My supplies are just now getting low; I was out scavenging for berries when you found me."

"So you've just been cooped up in here for a couple of years, eating canned food by yourself?" Carol sized him up.

"Yes," he said, the bland smile still fixed on his face.

"Do you know of anywhere we can get supplies? Any drugstores or grocery stores around here?" Maggie asked. Father Gabriel hesitated.

"Yes - maybe. There's a food bank in town. That's where the canned goods here were meant to go. But it's over run now."

"How many?"

"A dozen."

Rick snorted a little. "We can handle a dozen."

The shadow were growing long outside and Father Gabriel said he didn't think they could make it to town and back before dark. Not wanting to enter the food bank at night, it was decided that they would stay in the church and that Father Gabriel would take them to the food bank in the morning. The clergyman was visibly uncomfortable with this plan.

Rick had a few cans of food from the duffle bag outside of terminus and Tyreese produced a bag of pecans he had gathered after he and Carol fled the prison. The group helped themselves to the remainder of Father Gabriel's dwindling supplies – and, at his protests, Abraham promised they'd pay it back double after they scavenged the food bank.

"Unless it's all bullshit, you've got nothing to worry about," Abraham assured him. The clergyman winced a little at the profanity, but said nothing.

* * *

"So what do you think?" Carol asked Daryl softly. They were leaning against the interior walls of the church, watching the rest of the group eating and drinking the Communion wine. To Daryl's slight surprise, Father Gabriel had given them the wine without hesitation. He had said it wasn't holy until it was blessed, and that he had no use for it. Daryl held his own bottle by the neck, dangling it against his leg. "Is the Father just a wolf in sheep's clothing?"

"Everyone left can't all be assholes," was his reply. Carol scoffed a little at this, but made no reply.

Daryl had been watching her closely all day. He recognized her reclusive behavior, the arms length she kept the rest of the group at all day, as fear of being rejected if they all knew about the things she had done – both at the prison and after. The two of them had gone to fill the group's water jugs after they decided to stay the night at the church (Father Gabriel pointed them in the direction of a nearby stream). Daryl knew Carol well enough to know there was something she was hiding from him – some act she had committed that she thought even he would hold against her – and when he tried clumsily to talk to her she quickly shut him down.

Now his eyes were on Beth, who sat a little removed from the rest of the group on an old wooden pew. She no longer had the dazed expression that had marked her face since the attack outside Terminus, but she seemed very solemn and deep in thought.

Pulling himself from the wall, he walked up to the row behind her and tapped his wine bottle against her shoulder.

"Here. It'll go down a helluva lot smoother than shine."

She looked up at him, smiled briefly, and took the bottle. As she raise the bottle to her lips, Maggie's voice made them both jump.

"Beth!"

The blonde girl paused and met her sisters gaze, one eyebrow raised. Maggie looked shocked and a little disapproving.

"What are you doing? You don't drink." Maggie was standing up now, walking towards them. The attention of the group was on them now and Daryl felt his face flush. He hated how conspicuous this felt.

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Maggie," Beth rolled her eyes a little and took a sip.

"Daddy wouldn't want - "

"Daddy isn't here anymore, Maggie, and you aren't my mother!" Beth shot back. Her own face flushed as she realized how childish she sounded. Maggie opened her mouth to retort but Beth jumped in, working to lower her voice and speak more calmly.

"I'm not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions. I know you're just looking out for me, but I have to start looking after myself." Maggie's eyes searched her sister's.

"Just...be careful, okay? You don't know what alcohol is like. I don't want you getting sick."

Beth grinned a little at this and shot a sideways glance at Daryl, who was beginning to wish he had just stayed against the wall and out of the spotlight.

Beth only took a few swigs more before passing the bottle back to Daryl. In truth, she had no intention of getting drunk, but she felt better for having asserted her independence to Maggie. The alcohol hit her nearly empty stomach a little harder than she had expected, and in the warm haze of the wine she curled up in the pew and watched the rest of the group laughing and joking.

It was amazing how quickly they were able now to bounce back from battle - to be lighthearted and happy when twelve hours ago they were on the chopping block of a group of murderers. Their resilience fortified her.

Abraham was speaking now, reiterating the importance of getting Eugene to D.C. He too had seen the strength of the battle-proven group. He wanted their help – needed it – and was unwilling to rest until he had his answer.

But Rick could be just as determined a leader. He told Abraham only that they would consider it, and reevaluate in the morning after the food bank. Watch shifts were established (with the intention of not only looking out for walkers, but keeping an eye on Father Gabriel) and the survivors began choosing their pews and curling up to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Autumn seemed to happen over night. Though the days had been getting shorter, night falling earlier and earlier, the Georgia air had remained warm – at times, unpleasantly hot – but when the sun rose on the little white church it found frost on the grass.

The exhausted survivors were slowly to wake and it was after ten o'clock by Rick's watch before they began divvying up tasks for the day.

Abraham had found a church bus in the lot behind the building. There was some damage to the engine, but he was confidant that it could be repaired with help from Rosita and Eugene. Rick would take Michonne, Gabriel, Sasha and Bob to the food bank, and Tara, Glenn, and Maggie would go with them to town to search the other buildings. Daryl wanted to hunt, Carol volunteering to go with him, and Tyreese offered to stay and take care of Judith.

Beth couldn't help but notice that once again, she was relegated to staying back and being cared for with Judith and Carl.

The morning crawled by for her. She played with Judith, reading to her from some Sunday School books she found in the Church office, and tried to ignore the feeling of uselessness and exclusion that hung over her. By early afternoon, Judith was rubbing her eyes and yawning, and as Beth settled the baby into a basked they were using as a crib she began to look around for something to do.

She could hear Abraham and his crew working on the bus outside; Eugene's somewhat pedantic explanations and corrections punctuated by Abraham's colorful swears. Tyreese and Carl were sitting on the front steps of the church, tying tin cans on to a length of twine to set up a walker alarm. None of them needed help from her. She sighed, glancing around the sunlit sanctuary until her eye fell upon two empty 2 liter jugs.

"Where are you going?" Carl called after her as she carefully edged around him on the Church steps.

"To get some more water!" She called back. Her pack, which had been among the supplies they had buried in the woods outside Terminus, held both jugs neatly.

"You shouldn't go alone," Carl jumped up and sprinted to catch up with her. "Tyreese, I'm going with her – okay?"

"I'll be fine, Carl. Really."

"But you don't even know where the stream is!" His pale face looked sharp and serious beneath the wide brim of Rick's sheriff hat.

"I know it's this way, and Father Gabriel said you couldn't miss it," She knew he was right, and that going alone was reckless and unnecessary, but it only made her feel more useless to be escorted by a boy four years younger than her.

"I don't care. My dad said we shouldn't go anywhere alone." His determined tone made it clear he wouldn't yield.

They walked in silence through the red and brown forest, the leaves crinkling under their feet. It wasn't long before they came to the small stream and, crouching down and swinging her pack from her shoulder, Beth began to fill the bottles under Carl's alert watch.

She had placed one jug back in her pack - Carl gallantly offered to carry the other – when the sound of crunching leaves made them both turn.

Daryl was striding towards them, a few squirrel carcasses hanging from a rope around his neck. He grunted by way of greeting.

"Good hunt?" She asked as he fell in step with the two of them.

" 'S alright. Cold weather's gonna make it harder to find meat."

"Where's Carol?' Carl asked. Daryl froze and and color drained from his face.

"She ain't back at the church?"

Beth and Carl exchanged quick glances.

"We haven't seen her all morning."

"Shit!" Daryl swore, turning suddenly and running in the opposite direction.

"Daryl, wait!" Beth called after him, striving to catch up with the added weight of the full water jug on her back. Carl was at her heels.

Panting hard, arms lifted to push branches away from his face, Daryl tore through the forest before breaking out onto a dirt road. Beth stopped short behind him, hands on her knees, wheezing.

There was an old gray sedan parked on the shoulder. Daryl was leaning over the driver's seat, testing the ignition, but the engine wouldn't turn.

"What...the hell...is going on?" Carl asked through ragged breathes.

"We found this car last night when we went for water. Shoulda known she was gonna run!" He slammed the car door shut with one swing of his arm. Beth could feel the anger and frustration emanating from him. He was pacing now, studying the ground around the car. He put her in mind of a hound dog, sniffing for the trail of a scent.

"This is her," he said more to himself than anything, settling upon a set of boot prints that led away from the car and down the dirt road. Without warning he set off running again, eyes fixed on the ground below him.

"I'm going with him!" Beth straightened up. Before she could start off, Carl grabbed her arm.

"Wait, my Dad - "

"We'll be back soon, she can't have had much of a head start! Just tell them what happened!" She broke his grip and ran after Daryl, leaving Carl alone and calling after them both.

* * *

The couldn't sustain the run for long, and soon Carol's tracks veered from the dirt road back into the forest. It was harder for Daryl to follow here, and they had to pause occasionally for him to study the ground. The shadows were growing long behind them and a gnawing dread had begun to settle in the pit of Beth's stomach.

She had thought they would catch Carol by now. The woman could only have a couple of hours on them, and they were walking at such a brisk pace. But now, even if they did find her, it would be dark long before they could make it back to the church. Her dread only intensified when she thought of Maggie, who must be back from her run and worried sick.

Daryl had spoken only to give directions or voice his findings - "she turned her", "go left", "watch that branch". The woods were quiet, aside from a couple of walkers that stumbled at them and were quickly put down. Beth's shoulders ached from the weight of the water in her pack, but she didn't complain.

They seemed to have walked in to a state park. She saw trail markers every so often and even a sign describing the local wildlife obscured beneath years of grime. Now, they were coming up on what looked like a picnic shelter.

It was a simple rectangular building with two large archways on two sides. Inside were three rows of picnic tables. A couple of outdoor grills were stationed outside the shelter.

Beth paused and studied the shelter, unsure how to proceed. She knew that he wouldn't want to stop until they found Carol, but she didn't want to pass up shelter for the night.

"C'mon," He said to her, turning to see why she'd stopped.

"Daryl...you can't track in the dark. And she has to stop for the night soon, anyway. Come on. Let's just stay here tonight." She looked pleadingly into this his eyes, anticipating a fight. He didn't reply, but kept walking.

"If you lose the trail you'll only give her a bigger lead." She called to his retreating back, swinging the pack from her shoulders and letting it fall with a thunk. "We'll start again as soon as it's light, okay?" And without waiting for a response, she pulled her knife out of the holster on her hip and went into the little shelter.

Leaves and pine needles had gathered and decayed on the cement floor, creating a slimy mulch beneath her boots. She surveyed the little shelter, and, seeing no walkers or piles of leaves big enough to conceal one, re-holstered her knife. She heard him sigh and follow her into the shelter.

They had developed a routine after they escaped the prison together and they fell silently back into that rhythm now. Beth used a branch to clear the fallen leaves from one of the little grills and rebuilt a little fire underneath the grate. Daryl, meanwhile, sat at one of the picnic tables, carefully skinning and gutting the squirrels he had caught earlier.

As their dinner cooked, Daryl and Beth turned the picnic tables on their sides and moved them to block the archways of the picnic shelter., leaving a narrow gap to allow them in an out. Soon the squirrel skins were crackling and brown and the two sat leaning against the wall of the shelter eating as night fell.

He hadn't spoken to her since they had stopped for the night. A week ago, she would have interpreted his silence as annoyance. Now she knew he was simply lost in his own thoughts, concerned for his missing loved one.

"You're awful stuck-up, Daryl Dixon," she said gently, picking at the squirrel carcass in front of her. He shot her a questioning look from beneath his bangs and slowly chewed his own meal.

"You always make everything about you. It's not your fault,".

"I shoulda known she was gonna run,". He said after a pause.

"Why is she running anyway?" Beth had been asking herself this question all morning, but had been afraid to break Daryl's concentration. He studied his hands before answering, as if deciding how much to tell her.

"Carol will do anything to protect us. She does the stuff no one else wants to. That get's too tough, after a while."

"But what – oh." Beth recalled that Carol hadn't been in the prison the day it fell and something she had almost forgotten fell into place. "Karen and David?"

"How'd you know about that?" He asked quickly.

"I overheard Daddy and Rick talking." She pondered this new information – that Carol had killed two of their own, ostensibly to save the rest of them. She understood where Carol had been coming from, but she still wasn't sure she thought it was okay.

"Carol kind of said the same thing about you once," she said suddenly as another memory surfaced. "Well, not really the same but – she said you live by a code. And that you can't stand to lose anyone. And she's like that too, I guess. She has a code she live by, even if she doesn't always want to to do it." He only nodded in response and fell to eating more vigorously.

The little fire they had cooked by died quickly without their encouragement. The sun was gone, taking it's warmth with it. Beth and Daryl slid single file in to the picnic shelter and Daryl moved the picnic table to close the gap and seal them in for the night. He had always taken first watch after they escaped the prison, and they both assumed the old order would be followed. He sat in the corner of the shelter, knees bent, arms across his chest, hands tucked into the warmth of his underarms.

Beth had kicked clear a little space on the floor, and, wrapping herself in the blue quilt from her pack, she tried to get comfortable on the cold cement. A chattering breath from Daryl reminded her that he had only his flannel shirt to keep him warm.

"You're freezing!" She sat up and glanced at him.

"It's nothing," he shrugged.

"Daryl, don't be stupid,", and rising, she went over to sit beside him, throwing half of the blanket over his legs.

As they made contact- her entire right side aligning with his left – she felt him stiffen. Beth rolled her eyes in the dark. He was so like her Dad's old mare, Nelly. One day Nelly might nuzzle you, nip affectionately at your clothes, and the next she'd recoil if you tried to pet her neck.

Carefully, Beth adjusted the quilt so that it was tucked beneath her and behind her back, sealing her in from the neck down. After a tense moment, Daryl jerkily uncrossed his arms and did the same to his side.

They were pressed together at the hip, legs bent, her knee ending along his mid thigh. Her head came just up to the top of his shoulder. His left arm was wedged between them, and she wished he would just move it around her shoulder so that they could be closer – for the body warmth, of course, she told herself. Slowly, he began to relax, but when she glanced up at his face she noticed he was carefully looking anywhere but her direction.

"What are you going to say when we find her?" She asked softly, hoping to distract him from his own embarrassment.

"I dunno,".

And she understood that he wasn't be dismissive; Daryl genuinely had no idea.

* * *

He woke at the first gray rays of light, blinking confusedly in the chilly air. His left arm ached from being held straight at his side all night. Looking down, he could only see the top of Beth's blonde head. She had burrowed down deeper under the quilt, her face now resting against his chest.

He had fallen asleep on watch. _Shit._ How had he let this happen? The last thing he could remember was listening to the wind rattling the leaves and her slow, quiet breathing. He knew he was getting tired, knew he should wake her, but she had been so peaceful and warm and he wanted to put it off just..a little...longer...

 _Reckless,_ he chastised himself, hitting his head hard against the wall behind him. _Stupid. We're lucky a walker didn't come up on us._ He jostled his shoulder to wake her, calling her name.

Beth inhaled sharply and slowly raised her head. Something in her confused, drowsy eyes tugged at his chest. She looked so sweet, so unconcerned.

"Why didn't you wake me up for my watch?" She asked groggily, leaning away from him and stretching her arms up.

"Fell asleep," he said a little bitterly. "I gotta piss,", and moving quickly away from her, he slid back one of the picnic tables and slipped out of the shelter.

The chilly air hit her like a slap across the face as he moved away. Shivering, she quickly repacked the quilt and followed him.

The sight of his back, legs slightly spread, arms in front of him as he emptied his bladder made her blush a little. She hadn't expected him to be _right there_. Wordlessly, she went in the opposite direction to take care of her own needs, squatting behind a wide oak trunk.

The memory of what had happened last time she left him to go pee by herself was sharp in her mind, and, as she balanced with one hand on the tree trunk, she couldn't help but look around nervously. Re-buttoning her jeans, Beth stood up and surveyed the morning around her. The sky was clear – she hoped it would remain so – and the rising sun was beginning to warm the air. Beth couldn't help but wonder how long they would keep the search for Carol up. What if she had found a car and they lost her trail? At what point would Daryl call it quits? And would they be able to find their way back to the church? Her stomach dropped again at the thought of Maggie. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until a large hand fell on her shoulder.

Shrieking, Beth spun around and her small fist made contact with Daryl's mouth. He staggered back, his teeth biting into his lip and drawing blood.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"She apologized profusely shaking her smarting hand.

"The hell was that for?!" He rolled his shoulder against his mouth, wiping away the trickle of blood.

"I...thought you were a walker," Beth lied quickly. She didn't want him to know she had been thinking about the night at the campsite.

"You were gonna punch a walker?"

"It was a reflex," she said meekly. "Are you okay?" He took in her appearance – her hand, still shaking to dull the pain of hitting him, her furrowed brows, her teeth biting her own lower lip in concern – and laughed a little.

"I'll live. C'mon. Her trail goes this way."

* * *

His mood had improved since the day before. He seemed more sure that they were following the right trail, and more confidant that they would soon catch up. To her surprise, he broke the silence not long after that had begun walking.

"We could keep doing what we were doing, ya know,".

She looked up at him confused. His face flushed a little and he looked away, tossing his hair from his eyes.

"I mean before the funeral home. You learnin' to track and shit. I could keep teachin' you things, if you want."

"Oh," she said, comprehension dawning, "Oh! Yea, I would like that. What else could you teach me?"

"How to throw a decent punch for one," he shot her a sidelong long, and she couldn't help but giggle. "But also how to hunt. How to gut and skin what you catch. Just...anything," and he gave a noncommittal sort of shrug.

"Yea, that...I'd like that," she said again a little shyly, and the fell back into silence.

The trees were beginning to thin now. The trail they were on ran parallel a paved road, and Beth wondered again what they would do if Carol had come across a working car. Daryl was moving at an increasing pace, and she was certain they were moments from finding her.

The unmistakable slamming of a car door broke the morning calm. Daryl shed his pack in one quick motion and began running at full speed in the direction of the sound. Branches tore at his arms as he pelted through the trees, and, breaking suddenly unto the clear road, he crashed into the driver's side door of a gold pickup truck.

Carol was seated behind the wheel, and she jumped at the sudden collision. Before she could react, he was darting in front of the truck, his hands keeping contact with the grill. Deftly, he opened the passenger door and swung himself inside.

Carol was still frozen in the act of turning the key. She turned to him, her jaw clenched in a mixture of frustration and wariness.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing."

"I couldn't stay," her hand dropped from the ignition, and her gray eyes turned to search the road in front of her. "Not after the prison. Not after... you have no idea what happened. With Tyreese and...the girls."

"I don't need to know. It's done." His eyes sought hers, and she hesitantly turned to meet them. She took in his face – his eye still purple from the attack outside Terminus, a fresh cut on his lip, but a gravity and assurance in his face that was new to her.

"We've all done things we ain't proud of...things we don't want anyone to know. Doesn't matter anymore. We get a fresh start."

"It isn't that easy," her eyes misted slightly as she shook her head.

"It ain't easy, but it's true."

In the rear view mirror he saw Beth break into the road behind them, both their packs on her shoulders.

"She came with you?" Carol asked.

"Yea,"

"Interesting choice," Carol raised her eyebrows. They watched as the thin girl stood up and shrugged off the packs. Unsheathing the knife at her hip, she turned and walked purposefully back towards the treeline. Daryl could see now a lone walker stumbling towards her, graying arms swinging. She move decisively, thrusting her knife upward and halting the walker in his tracks.

"She's tougher than you'd think," Daryl smiled a little and rubbed his chin, before turning back to Carol.

"You wanna go, you wanna leave the group, I'm going with you." He promised, and she knew he wouldn't back down. "But we gotta get Beth back to the others. We can gather supplies, too. And if you still wanna go, we'll go."

Carol nodded once in reluctant agreement as Beth, opening the back door, climbed into the seat behind them.

"There's a map in my bag," Carol said, gesturing towards her pack in the backseat. "See if you can find a way back towards the church," and, swinging the car around, they headed back the way they came.


	11. Chapter 11

Beth studied the map from Carol's pack, tracing the railroad lines until they converged on what she thought must be Terminus. Scanning the area around it, she found the state park they were currently in, and she thought she could approximate the little town where the church sat.

Beth couldn't help but wonder what Daryl had said to convince Carol to come back with them. He seemed withdrawn - even more so than usual - and thoughtful.

Her stomach gave a loud growl. Carol's silvery eye's met Beth's in the rearview window.

"There's a can of corn in the bag," she offered. Gratefully, Beth seized the can and passed it over Daryl's shoulder to his waiting hand. He deftly spun his knife around the top, prying it open with quick movements. He tilted his head back and swallowed a quick mouthful before holding the can up for Beth to take.

Unnoticed by the other two, Carol's brows knit for the quickest second. Ever observant, she had noticed at the church, and here it was again - a wordless camaraderie between Beth and Daryl. He told her that they had escaped together. They seemed to have developed a system, a familiarity, where they anticipated each other's movements and acted without hesitation.

Daryl chewed his mouthful of kernels. He had meant what he said when he promised to leave with Carol, but God, he hoped she would change her mind. The thought of leaving Rick, who had become a brother to him, or Michonne, his determined partner in the hunt for the Governor, or Beth, who... he was surprised at the sudden drop in his stomach as the thought of leaving Beth crossed his mind. But Carol had saved him, first and most often. She had welcomed him, sought him, respected him when the rest at Hershel's farm saw only a redneck asshole. Someone to do the dirty work. Someone noone really wanted around. It was like when Merryl showed up at the prison. He hadn't wanted to leave the group then, but his brother had taken their father's shit for him as a kid. Meryl may have been a dick, but Daryl still owed him his life.

But maybe Carol would change her mind. He knew there was uncertainty in her heart. When her mind was made up, Carol would not be stopped. She could've thrown the truck in reverse and sped off around him. But she had paused, and that gave him hope.

It was still before noon when Beth told Carol to veer right. The pine forest around them gave way to a string of houses and an abandoned main street.

A few walkers stumbled aimlessly through the buildings. Vegetation choked at the homes and storefronts and the roads were littered with debris. Carol hit the brakes and surveyed the town in front of them.

"Do we think it's safe?"

No one answered here. They all knew what could happen - the town could be an ambush, with shooters in the buildings waiting to take the truck out and steal their supplies. Or perhaps they'd round a corner and run into a herd.

"We even sure this is right town?" Daryl asked.

"No," Beth answered frankly. The area around what she thought was Terminus had been sparsely populated; the marked towns had been few and far between. She had taken her best guess, but still…

"Screw it," Carol stepped on the pedal and the truck lurched forward. Beth was on high alert, eyes peeled for threats or a sign that they were headed the right way.

"Look! She cried suddenly, eliciting quick reactions from Daryl and Carol. "Sorry, no, it's just - I think that's the food bank!" And sure enough, they were passing a storefront marked Harvest Hope Food Bank. The front window had been shattered, the shelves inside stripped bare. Beth hoped that meant a successful run for the group.

The row of buildings ended as abruptly as it had begun. Satisfied that the town wasn't a trap, Carol slowed the car to a halt at an intersection just outside of the town.

"Hold up," Daryl said, swinging open the door to study the road for tracks the group may have left the previous day. Beth watched him through the front window, unaware that Carol was in turn watching her.

"Head right," he directed, climbing back into the truck. After a few moments the road turned towards the woods, the tall oaks and pines casting moving shadows on the navigated carefully, scanning the trees for threats and a signs. Even so, she nearly missed the green "CHURCH AHEAD" sign covered in fallen straw. Daryl nudged her on time, and turning quickly, the red tin roof of the chapel came into view.

Beth leaned forward between the two front seats, trying to make out the group huddled in the churchyard. Her stomach dropped, the breath exiting her lungs as if she'd been punched in the gut. They were standing at what was unmistakably a fresh grave.

One of the figures turned suddenly, lifting an assault rifle and aiming at the dirty gold truck. Carol ducked quickly, slamming her foot on the brake, as Daryl swore and roughly pulled Beth down by the arm. When no shot pierced the windshield he peeked over the dashboard. Tyreese had wrapped his arm around his sister's narrow frame, pointing her weapon towards the ground.

Still some twenty yards away, the three grabbed their packs and quickly exited the truck. At the sight of her sister, Maggie broke from the group and ran forward, Rick striding behind her. Relief flooded through Beth even as she scanned the rest to see who was missing, but before she could deduce who might be in the grave she was wrapped in a tight - and somewhat angry - hug.

"Who?" She dimly heard Carol ask.

"Bob." Rick's voice betrayed his exhaustion and wrath. "C'mon. We'll talk inside."

Sasha and Tyreese remained at Bob's graveside, but the rest trooped into into the chapel. The afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass, illuminating the tension etched in every face. The initial relief Beth had felt at seeing Maggie was replaced with sinking dread.

"What happened?" Carol's voice was both quiet and commanding. "Was it walkers?"

"Yes - well, no. We don't think that's what killed him." Glenn said softly. He paused, shooting a quick look at Rick before continuing, "He went missing last night. We tried to find him, but it was dark and… anyway, we found him this morning out front. He'd been shot through the head. There was a bite on his shoulder but we don't think he'd turned yet... And his arms were...missing."

"Cut off," Rick drawled furiously. "The wounds were cauterized."

"And that was pinned to him," Glenn finished, nodding towards a paper lying on a nearby pew. Standing on her tiptoes, Beth could make out two words scrawled in thick marker:  
TAINTED MEAT.

* * *

Beth inhaled deeply, soaking up the damp earth smell and trying to calm her pounding heart. Daylight was fading quickly and she knew it would soon be time to act.

It had all come down to Eugene. When Rick and Sasha had made it clear to Abraham that they wouldn't head to Washington without avenging Bob, and Eugene asserted that he saw no sense in leaving without them, Abraham had finally consented to stay and fight.

"And just how in the actual fuck are y'all planning' on attacking?" He asked in exasperation. "You don't know where they are. You don't know how many there are. You don't know dick."

Eugene cleared his throat. "It's my firm belief that our friend Bob was delivered to our doorstep in order to provoke hostilities; an operation by all accounts successful. I believe they intend to draw us out into an ambush, and furthermore I believe the fact that they attacked one man under cover of darkness suggests that we have the upper hand as far as numbers and strength are concerned. And I have a plan to turn the tables, if you're so inclined to hear it."

The afternoon had been spent preparing - all but two of the church windows had been shuttered, and several pieces of flooring had been pried unceremoniously from the floor of Father Gabriel's office. Dried pine straw had been gathered and spread on the pews and in the corners of the sanctuary, the sharp fragrance filling the whole room. The meager supplies had been loaded onto the repaired church bus, save the weapons, which had been distributed amongst the survivors.

After a rushed and early supper Father Gabriel had handed over the key to the church's front door to Beth with the look of a man resigned to the worst. Clutching it tightly in her palm, she had slipped through the hole in the floor into the crawlspace below. With slow and quiet progress she army-crawled towards the front of the building, stopping in the shadow of the front steps.

Her role was of vital importance, and she was still a bit taken aback that it had fallen to her. It made sense of course; she was small and quick, and would not be considered a threat by the people of Terminus, but she was still a little unused to being included in the dangerous jobs.

Her body began to ache, curled into it's cramped position, and the drumming of her pulse made her feel faintly dizzy. When at last the sky had turned black she heard the stealthy movements on the floor boards above; heard the slow squeak of the door being opened. Her eyes, having adjusted to the darkness, watched as ten pairs of feet walked in file from the church towards the woods. Behind her, she could hear Eugene cautiously climbing down into the crawlspace. Carl, Gabriel, and Tyreese, who cradled Judith, squeezed in behind him.

Anxious minutes passed. Despite the chilly night air beads of sweat rolled down Beth's face and back. At last she thought she heard the crunch of gravel, and straining to see by the dim moonlight, she counted seven pairs of feet that stole up the church steps. A thud overhead told her the door had been pushed open and, as the floorboards groaned beneath the tread of the intruders, she heard rustling behind her and knew that Tyreese had slid aside a panel of the lattice that enclosed the crawlspace so that he and others could sneak onto the waiting church bus.

"Well, I guess you know where here." Gareth's muffled voice carried down to her as he stepped deeper into the dark sanctuary. "And we know you're here."

A perfect owl call came quietly from the woods, and knowing it was Daryl's signal, Beth clenched her palms and eyes shut for one brief second, mustering her courage. With trembling fingers she slid aside the lattice in front of her and crept to a crouch by the steps.

Eugene had tampered with the door hinges that afternoon so that the door would swing closed by its own weight, but Beth still peered cautiously over the stoop to be sure it was shut. From inside she could here Gareth listing the survivors he believed to be hiding inside the back office.

Noiselessly Beth crept up the front steps, sensing the eyes of the rest of the group on her back. She fought to steady her hand as she slipped the key in the lock, and seeing Daryl and Rick creep into position at the edges of her peripherals she turned the key quickly before pitching herself over the side of the steps.

The sound of metal turning was deafening in the still night, but before the intruders could react Rick and Daryl had lit the Molotov cocktails they had been holding and whipped them through the unblocked windows before rushing forward to shutter them with a bang. Through the cracks in the shutters Beth could see the hellish glow as the fires caught the pine straw and flared; the group from Terminus was shouting in anger and surprise, and the sound of frantic feet running towards the doors and windows was distinguishable even with the yells and crackling flames.

The survivors moved as if choreographed. Beth, Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Rosita and Sasha spread out to cover every door and window, prepared to kill anyone who might break through the church. Tyreese came from the bus to join Carol, Maggie and Glenn in circling the church, fending off any walkers attracted by the noise and light.

"Rick!" Beth yelled as the window to her right shattered and the wooden shutters buckled and splintered. A man lay curled on the broken wood and glass,having thrown himself through the window. The rest of the intruders began to spill out like insects fleeing their hive, hacking in the smoky air, only to be greeted by the viciousness of the survivors.

Rick yanked Gareth to the ground and raising his machete in air began to chop at the weak and whimpering man. Michonne made quick work of two survivors with her blade and Abraham grunted and swore as used the butt of his gun to knock a man down. Sasha's face was a mask of blind fury as she thrust a knife into the skull of an older woman with the deftness developed by years of fighting Walkers.

The brutality hit Beth like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the righteous anger and determination that had fueled her all afternoon. Turning from the carnage, her eyes fell on the man who had broken through the window, still struggling to get up from the ground. Dispassionately she raised her pistol and ended his suffering with a bullet between the eyes.

* * *

The church was still burning when the group abandoned the abused corpses and filed silently onto the waiting bus. Beth was curled up in the second to last seat, her back against the cool window. Daryl paused on his way to join Carol in the seat behind her, their eyes meeting.

"You did good today," he said in a low voice. A measure of calm and faint pride came to her at his words. She smiled her gratitude and closed her eyes as Abraham, began to steer the bus on to the dark road.


	12. Chapter 12

Daryl woke the next morning as an early ray of sun fell across his his hands down his face, he sat up and took in the bus around him.

Abraham had pulled the bus into a shady side road sometime in the night and now lay with his head in Rosita's lap. On the front step of the bus Daryl could make out the broad back of Tyreese, keeping silent watch. Beside him, Carol's whole body was turned towards the window. He couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not.

Daryl sighed, leaning back into his seat and kicking his feet into the aisle. There was a gnawing dread he couldn't quite suppress as he thought about his promise to Carol. Beth was curled up like a cat in the seat in front him, her hair spilling out over the armrest and catching the feeble sunlight. Without realizing what he was doing, Daryl reached out and took one if the locks, wrapping it around his index finger and studying the gold glimmers.

His reverie was interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Jerking to attention, Daryl turned right to see Rick and Carl watching him from across the aisle with identical grins.  
"Oh, Beth!" Carl sung out jokingly. Daryl leapt across and put him in a playful headlock, but the damage was done. Beth stirred from her sleep and turned around, stretching her arms upward with a yawn.  
"What's going out?"  
"Nothing, Beth, just boys being boys," Rick told her with a laugh as Daryl and Carl continued to struggle.

The rest were waking now and Abraham, elated to be one road, advised them all to "dig your shit hole now, 'cause once we get going we ain't stopping til D.C."'  
The bus rolled on in peace. The dwindling food provisions were meted out and as Beth ate her canned beets she felt completely secure for the first time in days.  
They had just passed a small herd of walkers when a sudden boom from the engine jolted her forward. Smoke poured from under the hood, and Abraham swung the wheel in effort to gain control. The bus careened from one side of the road to another, the tires losing traction on the leaf-strewn pavement. Top-heavy, the bus tilted dangerously on it's side. Abraham furiously tried to re correct, but it was no use. The bus landed sideways and slid down into a ditch.

Inside, through the ever thickening haze and Judith's wails, Beth could make out her fellow survivors groaning and picking themselves own head throbbed and, reaching back to inspect the source of pain, Beth found she was bleeding. Shattered glass had fallen into her shirt, scratching her skin and she hastily shook it out. 'Eugene! MotherFUCK! Is he breathing?" barked Abraham, fighting to free himself from the front seat. Beth could see Eugene's still body sprawled across the floor. Tara bent over him , her head to his chest. "Yes! yes! he's alive," she nodded frantically.  
"The engine's on fire; we have to go!" Rosita yelled as she he hurried to grab what she could of the upset packs and supplies. Maggie shrieked suddenly as a walker impaled himself on the glass remnants of a nearby window, lunging inward to claw at her arm. She quickly thrust her knife into his temple and joined the others in grabbing supplies and pushing towards the back of the bus. Abraham threw Eugene's limp form over one shoulder as Rick and Daryl forced open the bus rear emergency door.

The walkers had caught up now, a half dozen or so rotted bodies pawing at the windows and stumbling to attack the survivors as they fled the bus. Michonne swung her katana with expert precision, burying the blade deep into the skull of the nearest walker. Glen drove another against the bus side, his knife sinking smoothly through the grey flash. Daryl had two on either side, held from him by their tattered shirts, and he threw them to the ground effortlessly,stomping the skull of one even as his arrow sank through the skull of the other. Beth pushed an oncoming walker from her as she struggled to pull out her small blade. Grunting with exertion, she charged forward and grabbed the walker, pulling it forward to meet her plunging knife. Despite the crash-inflicted wounds the small herd was no match, and before long the survivors were left panting in the wreckage of the bus and corpses to start their triage.

Eugene had been revived and now sat dazed and blinking against a tree. Everyone was bruised and bloodied, sporting scratches along their forearms and faces. Sasha had fared worst. Her left arm was fractured and was soon supported by a sling made of Father Gabriel's undershirt.

Abraham was thunderous. Ignoring the deep gash on his own forehead, he stormed between the group and smoldering bus, swearing violently and kicking tree trunks. At first Rosita had offered a conciliatory hand, but it had been smacked roughly away. Once satisfied that no one had sustained critical injuries, they set out on foot. Rather than calming him, each step seemed to increase Abraham's anger. The rest viewed him warily, afraid he might act irrationally or vent his anger on one of them. Only Eugene seemed petrified of him. His skin was a sickly gray and Beth wondered if he suffered a concussion in the accident.

By the afternoon they had walked several miles. Abraham had exhausted himself into bitter silence and when Rick suggested the stop and scout for a place to rest the night he didn't object, but agreed to stay behind with Sasha, Eugene, Judith and Gabriel as the rest split into different scouting groups. Beth had looked to Daryl as the group divided and he had nodded towards the woods beside them with a slight smile. Daryl let her lead the way, guiding her to look for signs of human activity. For a while they tread through the woods without speaking, her brow furrowed in concentration as her eyes swept the forest. Daryl meant to be searching behind her, picking up any hint she might miss, but kept finding himself glancing at her face. There was something in the seriousness and focus of her face that drew him to it.

They paused at a little stream to refill their canteens, squatting beside one another on the banks. Beth broke the silence.  
"It's funny what I took for granted Before. We could've drive from the Farm to DC in less than day, and I woulda complained about how long the drive was. Now it's probably gonna take us weeks. It's taken 'em months just to get from Texas to Georgia."  
"Mmh," Daryl gave a low grunt, " I think someone was slowin' them down."  
"What do you mean?" She turned from watching the water fill her bottle to meet his eyes. He was struck suddenly be just how close they were sitting, their faces inches apart, and by the dark blue rim that circled her light irises. He looked down at once.  
"Ya ever notice Eugene's face when someone asks about the cure? Looks like he's gonna piss himself."  
Beth's eyes were still trained on his face as his meaning took hold.  
"You mean… he doesn't have it? He doesn't know how to end it?"  
"Don't think so."  
She turned this over in her mind as they stood and continued their search. To her surprise, she didn't feel very disappointed. She hadn't really dwelt on the idea of ending it, the possibility of eliminating the virus. There had been so much happening in her head lately, so many internal arguments that she had simply gone along unquestioningly with Rick's decision to join Abraham. But as she thought it over now, she realized some small part of her had always felt it was too good to be true.

"Why haven't you said anything to Rick?" She asked, and Daryl framed his thoughts for a moment before speaking. " People gotta have a reason to keep going. Maybe we find something good on the way. And I don't know if it's true or not."

She remembered how she had needed to find alcohol after the prison fell - not because she actually wanted to get drunk but because having a purpose had kept her tethered in reality and able to was then that she noticed a culvert covered and half-clogged in leaves a few yards to their left. She grabbed his arm in excitement and directed them towards it. Daryl felt both a little ashamed that he hadn't noticed it himself and proud that she was beginning to learn how to read the landscape.

The trees began to thin, and Beth saw that they were coming on to a small neighborhood. The road they were approaching curved sharply and the house nearest them occluded all the rest on the street. As they stole towards the back door they noticed a few walkers ambling their way from down the road, but as they weren't an immediate threat, they chose to ignore them. Daryl rapped on the backdoor and listened for activity inside. When he was satisfied he rammed his shoulder against the door and it swung open.

The kitchen they entered was in total upheaval; cabinets dangled from broken hinges and plaster coated every surface. Pots, pans, and dishes were broken and scattered on the floor. Beth stepped gingerly through the debris towards the pantry as Daryl, crossbow held aloft, moved stealthily forward to clear the rest of the house.

Panic gripped him as he turned the corner. The side of the house had been ripped apart by a massive explosion and against the backdrop of charred chimneys and crumbling homes came a large herd of walkers - he couldn't tell how many as they came from around the bend in the road - but at least a few dozen were visible already. The nearest were only 15 feet away and a handful noticed his appearance and turned hungrily towards him. Daryl, realizing in a second two terrifying truths - that there were far too many to take on and that running out the still-open backdoor might would likely mean running into a group of walkers that had already passed the house - did the only thing he could think of. Within a few seconds he had run to the pantry Beth was looking in, shoved her inside with his hand over her mouth, and closed it awkwardly behind his back. He hoped and thought he had been quick enough that the walkers hadn't seen where he had disappeared and would pass through the house, not realizing that their prey was hiding behind a door. Even in the near dark he could see her eyes, large with questions, above the hand that covered her mouth. The sound of shuffling feet stumbling over the debris in the kitchen heralded the arrival of the first walkers, and Beth's eyes grew even rounder as she understood. Daryl's breath hitched in his throat as he listened, exhaling with minor relief as the footsteps led out the backdoor.

The pantry they now occupied was wider than it was deep, its shelves on either side of the narrow door. His initial fears eased, Daryl suddenly became aware of just how cramped they were. Beth was pressed against the back wall, hands at her sides. He was pressing into her, his left leg firmly between both of hers, the crossbow held against the wall above her shoulder in his right hand. Realizing he was still covering her mouth, he shifted his left hand to the wall beside her head, pinning her between his arms.

Like lemmings, other walkers had followed the first and a steady parade of the moaning undead shuffled past their hiding spot. Daryl was intensely uncomfortable with their proximity, and not knowing where to look bent his head down - not realizing that the shaggy ends of his hair now tickled the side of her neck. He started slightly as he felt her hands land hesitantly on his waist - what is she doing?! - before creeping along the top of his pants to his back pocket. He understood, as he felt her slide the Bowie knife from its sheath in his pocket and then transfer the blade to her right hand, aimed at the door. It would be feeble protection should something happen and the door be forced open, but maybe it would by him time enough to turn around and draw a bolt.

The herd seemed to be hitting its swell now. He could hear walkers from all sides of the house, smell the decay as their numbers grew, and still a steady stream wove through the kitchen. His shoulders began to ache from lifting his arms up, and his right forearm shook with the weight of the bow.  
"Just rest it on my shoulder," she barely whispered, and gratefully, cautiously, he lowered his bow until some of the burden of its weight was taken by her shoulder. He tried now to shift his legs, to give her more room, but succeeded only in wedging his leg between hers more firmly. As his thigh pressed into her groin she dipped her head in an involuntary reaction. Her breath left a stream of goosebumps along his collarbone, and he experienced a surge of emotion he had almost forgot existed. He fought to control his body and not add to his embarrassment at being so close to her, and focused instead on the danger outside.

They had been in hiding a half hour before the sounds of Walkers moving outside died away. With cramped muscles he reached behind him and turned the knob, opening the door a fraction of an inch. Beth crouched slightly - he gritted his teeth as it brought her in closer contact against his leg - and peered out into the kitchen.

"Clear," she told him, and pushing the door open they untangled silently. They stood still for a moment, not looking at one another, until, Daryl's gruff voice broke the quiet.  
"We should probably head back."  
"Yea," she said faintly, and daring a glance at her face, he saw that she was flushed. "Here," she added shyly, holding out the Bowie knife still in her hand and meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second. He took it with a grunt of thanks and, taking the lead this time, began their wordless trip back to the group.


End file.
